


Et Lux In Tenebris Lucet

by synchronysymphony



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, I'm not sure how to tag this, Legal Struggles, Nonprofit Work, if there are tw I will put them on each chapter do not worry, they all work at a nonprofit organization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7403752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronysymphony/pseuds/synchronysymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette loves her work at the Notre Dame Community Partnership Agency, and she's going to save it if it's the last thing she does. And along the way, maybe she can find the time for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Notre Dame Community Partnership Agency, what can I do for you?”

Cosette thinks she’s said this one phrase more than a thousand times already, and it’s not even 11AM. Honestly, this is why she hates working reception. She’s good at it, she can’t deny that– she’s got a perky attitude and a cute Barbie-doll voice, and people tend to smile when they see her at the front desk. But administrative work is so _boring_. She’d much rather be doing something tangible, helping Joly in the makeshift psych clinic, maybe, or better, working on her own project, the Notre Mot Literacy Campaign. Unfortunately, she’s stuck here for now, because Irma’s out sick today, and no one else was available to take the spot except Enjolras. Cosette wasn’t cruel enough to subject the poor awkward little ball of social anxiety to front desk duty, so now here she is, sitting on her butt and sketching pictures of kittens in tiaras to pass the time while she waits to make herself useful.

“Yeah, hi.” The voice on the other end of the phone startles her out of her admittedly uncharitable ruminations. It’s a girl’s voice, probably, but so deep and rough that it’s almost unrecognizable as such. Cosette can’t help but wonder about whom it belongs to. “This is Eponine Thenardier. I’m calling about the legal documents for my sister Azelma?”

“Thenardier?” Cosette pages through the memo pad that Irma left her. It’s unfortunately somewhat disorganized, but at least there’s some semblance of alphabetical order. After a second, she digs up a sticky note with an almost-incomprehensible note scrawled on it in purple gel pen. “Okay,” she says. “So, it looks like we have the documents ready. If you want to come down whenever you’re free, we can set you up with a consultation.”

“Great.” Cosette can hear a smile in the girl– Eponine’s– voice. “What about 3:30 this afternoon? Would that work?”

Cosette considers. Enjolras doesn’t have class on Mondays and Wednesdays, so he should be here all day. She’ll just have to keep him from skipping off to debate social theory with Grantaire (or whatever it is they do to flirt with each other). This shouldn’t be too hard; all she has to do is tell him he has an appointment, and he’ll be all up in arms and ready to take action. Say what she might about his social skills (or lack thereof), there’s no one more willing than him to help everyone around him in whatever way he can.

“Yes, that’s perfect,” she says. “Have you been here before?”

“I have, yes.”

“Great.” Cosette makes a note on her calendar, though it’s not likely she’ll forget anytime soon. “When you come, just make sure you bring all your identification. I trust you, but I just want to make sure your sister’s documents end up in the right hands.”

“I’ll bring them.” Eponine sounds amused. “I’ll see you at 3:30, then. Thank you, um…?”

“Cosette.”

“Cosette. Well, thank you, Cosette. I’ll see you later.”

“Yup! Do your best today, stay well!”

Cosette hangs up the phone, wishing she hadn’t ended the call like that. She’s so used to saying it to her friends and her dad that it slipped out by itself. But now that she thinks about it, it’s probably really unprofessional. This is proof– she’s the exact wrong person for a desk job like this. Still, though, she gets a chance to meet Eponine now. That’s something to look forward to, at least.

—

The rest of the day passes slowly. Cosette doesn’t get many interesting visitors, although at one point, an angry conservative soccer dad comes in to inform her that the neighborhood is going downhill what with the influx of “creepy hobos” that Notre Dame brings in. It’s fortunate that Combeferre hears the commotion and comes out to deal with him, because Cosette is about three seconds away from punching the privileged sack of ignorance right in the face. She considers herself to be a loving person, but even she has limits, and one of them is dealing with assholes.

A little while later, Feuilly comes in to drop off some books and papers for her literacy program. She can’t help but feel bad, because heaven knows where he gets all these things when he’s living out of his car and has about three dollars to his name, but he always brings the best materials for her to work with, so she’s also grateful. He’s truly one of the kindest people she’s ever met. They chat for a bit until some more people come in and Cosette has to go back to work, at which point she sends him off to talk to Enjolras. The boy has the biggest dubiously-platonic crush on him; every day that he sees Feuilly is a good one in his mind.

At around 3:15, Courfeyrac comes in, ranting about some fresh outrage at work. As a young lawyer, he’s had to seek employment wherever he can find it, and his new job is, to hear him tell it, practically run by the mafia itself. His hours are flexible enough that he can still work part-time at Notre Dame, and the pay is decent, so he puts up with it grudgingly, but every day seems to be a new travesty. He complains to Cosette for awhile, until Combeferre comes out of the back room with a half-filled prescription in his hand, looking for “his sunshine,” and then the two of them promptly leave together, hand-in-hand. It’s cute; Cosette is really happy that they’re finally together now. The amount of pining she’d had to put up with was frankly ridiculous.

She’s still smiling slightly when the door opens and a slender young woman strides in, flanked by two grumpy-looking children. She’s not tall– Cosette probably has an inch or two on her– but she carries herself with such an attitude that the room seems to recenter itself around her. Cosette can’t believe she’s never seen her before. Even dressed as she is in thrift store fashion and 99-cent eyeliner, she’s beautiful, probably one of the most beautiful women Cosette has ever seen (and Cosette has seen a lot of beautiful women). No question about it, this must be Eponine.

“Hi.” Cosette’s voice squeaks. She coughs, praying it wasn’t noticeable, and tries again. “Hi, welcome to Notre Dame Community Partnership Agency. Are you Eponine?”

“That’s me.” Eponine comes right up to the counter. She flashes an ID and a brilliant smile simultaneously, and Cosette is glad she’s already sitting down, because her knees are starting to feel weak. 

“Great,” she says. It comes out almost normal. “Um– so, you’re right on time. Do you want to head on back?”

“That would be great.” Eponine sounds amused, and Cosette wants to smack herself. Why did her brain pick now to short out on her? 

“Okay,” she says. “You’ll just go through these doors, and then… you know what, why don’t I go with you? It’s probably easier that way.”

“Is it really okay for you to leave your station here, though?”

“Oh, sure.” Cosette waves her hand breezily. “I’ve been sitting here for five hours. I think it’s okay for me to get up and escort you, right?”

“It’s definitely okay with _me_.” 

Eponine’s smile is beyond brilliant. Cosette thinks dizzily that she must have done something right.  

“Come on, then,” she says. “Enjolras should be ready for you now.”

Enjolras is indeed ready. In fact, he’s probably been ready ever since Cosette told him that Eponine would be coming in. As soon as Cosette opens the door to his makeshift office, he’s standing up to greet them, beaming.

“Hi, come in! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m really excited to work with you– oh! I’m Enjolras, by the way!”

“I know.” Eponine goes to shake his hand, smiling almost mischievously. “I’m Eponine. But I think you know that.”

“I, uh. I guess I do.”

“Hey,” pipes up one of the children at Eponine’s side, the little raggedy-haired boy. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re really short?”

Enjolras looks thrown, but he answers anyway. “Um, well yes, in fact. It’s usually one of the first things that people tell me.”

“Huh.” The little boy studies him for a second, unblinking. “Okay. You look like a kid, though.”

“How old are you?” chimes in the other child. Her voice is softer, but no less piercing.

Enjolras smiles at her in the manner of someone who’s trying to placate a strange wild animal. Cosette should have remembered before this– he’s horrible with kids. “I’m nineteen,” he says.

“You’re nineteen? So you’re in college?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re not a real lawyer?”

“Um– no.”

“So you don’t know what you’re doing?”

“Okay,” breaks in Cosette, seeing that Enjolras looks like he’s about to faint or run away or both, “Why don’t we let them talk? If you come out to the front room with me, I’ll let you play on my DS.”

“Really?” 

The kids turn their attention to her, all bright-gleaming eyes and pure smiles. They’re so cute. Cosette doesn’t think she’ll mind watching them for a bit while Eponine takes care of business. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Come on, pop along with you now.”

Eponine shoots her a grateful smile as she guides the kids out of the room. Adorable though they are, it can’t be easy dealing with them all the time. Eponine must have a lot on her plate. Well, Cosette can help out for a bit. She’s good with children, and she likes to be useful. This shouldn’t be bad at all.

—

Twenty-five minutes later, Cosette is desperately texting Grantaire to come out and help her with the kids. Azelma and Gavroche are cute as buttons, but they’re the most rambunctious little imps she’s ever seen. They’ve already scared off two people in the waiting room, and it looks like they’re on their way to a third. Cosette is trying her best, she really is, but there’s only so much she can do when people keep coming in to talk to her and the phone keeps ringing. No doubt about it, she needs help.

Fortunately, Grantaire comes through. It’s surprising, but he’s one of the best there is at dealing with children. Often, the others relegate him to babysitting duty when large families come in, and he always grumbles about it, but he doesn’t truly seem to mind. Now he’s here, carrying a packet of gummy worms from who-knows-where, and looking ready for anything. He’s a miracle sent from heaven, that’s what he is. Cosette wants to hug him.

“Thank you so much for helping out,” she says instead. “I’m losing it here.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he protests, but Cosette shakes her head.

“You will.”

He does. Azelma and Gavroche pounce on him immediately, recognizing him as their newest target. He reacts to them with good grace, fending off their incessant questions, and plying them with candy until they stop running around the room and settle down beside him in the corner to talk to him. Cosette can hear snippets of the conversation from her desk.

“R! Why is your nose crooked?”

“Because I told too many lies when I was your age.”

“Really? If I tell lies, will my nose do that too?”

“Yup.”

“I’m going to tell as many lies as I can!”

“Wait no– ”

“Hey, hey, R! How old are you?”

“I’m 25.”

“You’re old!”

“I’m not _that_ old…”

“Hey, R! Do you know, your face looks weird!”

“Aww, hey. You know that’s not a polite thing to tell someone.”

“Why?”

And on and on. Cosette feels somewhat bad for subjecting Grantaire to this, but he looks like he’s having fun, and besides, someone really does need to keep an eye on the kids. It shouldn’t be too much longer, anyway. Enjolras has a horror of wasting people’s time, so he’s usually fairly efficient when he gets down to business. He and Eponine should be done with their consultation pretty soon. 

As Cosette had thought, it’s not too long before Enjolras and Eponine come out of the office, chatting easily. They seem comfortable with each other, which is a minor miracle in itself. Usually, it takes Enjolras at least two more meetings to warm up to someone new. What they’re talking about, though, Cosette will never know, because Enjolras takes one look at Grantaire and the kids, turns bright red, and stops short in the middle of the floor, making a strange sort of sputtering sound. Eponine looks at him with no little surprise.

“You okay there?”

“So cute,” Enjolras manages to get out. There’s no question of whom he’s referring to. Eponine’s gaze flicks over to the corner, sharp and perceptive, and she grins.

“I see.” With a decisive step, she crosses the room and tugs Gavroche up by the arm. “Come on, you two, leave the poor man alone. We have places to be.”

“Aww, but Eponine!” Gavroche attempts to twist out of her grasp, unsuccessfully, because despite her thin arms, Eponine seems to be rather strong. 

“We’re not bothering him,” adds Azelma. “We want to stay here and talk to him more!”

“I’m sure you do, but I have class tonight, and I need to get you home so you can get started on your homework. Come on, now.”

This new bit of information just feeds Cosette’s curiosity about Eponine and the life she leads. She wants to sit down with her and just talk, learn everything that Eponine is comfortable sharing. But she’s not sure how to get this to happen without making things weird. Eponine is technically her client, after all, and it wouldn’t be very professional to ask her for her phone number. Besides, she really doesn’t want to come off as creepy, or make Eponine uncomfortable in any way. She decides to keep things cool for now. Who knows, maybe they’ll see each other again.

“Can I walk you out?” she asks, as Eponine manages to wrangle Gavroche and Azelma away from Grantaire. Eponine smiles at her.

“That would be awesome.”

They leave the building together just as Enjolras goes over to Grantaire and blushingly attempts to compliment him on his child-rearing skills. Eponine looks at Cosette and points back inside.

“He’s crushing hard.”

“So you noticed too?”

“I notice a lot.” Eponine smiles at Cosette. They’re both outside now, but neither of them has made a move to leave. Cosette’s heart is in her throat.

“Really? What else do you notice?”

“Well.” Eponine leans in, just enough to make Cosette’s belly catch fire. Her eyes are a soft, limpid brown. “I notice that you’re cute. And I’d like to see you again.”

“Y-you would, huh? As it happens, I’d like that, too.” Cosette can’t think straight. She prays her brain will instinctively supply her with the right words, because she has no idea what she’s saying. 

It must work, because Eponine clasps her hand, just briefly, and smiles once more before stepping away. “I’ll be back, then.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Cosette stands on the sidewalk much longer than she has to, watching while Eponine and the kids walk off to the bus stop. Her hand feels like it’s tingling, pulsing with energy from where Eponine touched it. She’s a live wire, and it feels wonderful.

So, it turns out she was wrong. Reception desk duty is a _miracle_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news comes from City Hall.

Irma’s back the next day, so Cosette leaves the fishbowl hyper-chaos of the front room and heads back to the slightly-less noisy world of literacy. She’s excited; her project is definitely taking off now. She’s had two people come to her in the past week, and they seem satisfied, so she’s hoping that they’ll spread the word. In the meantime, though, she has a lot of bureaucracy to take care of. Mabeuf is her best helper, and he’s definitely passionate about the project, but he’s not so good with the gritty details of organization. That’s best left to Cosette herself.

She’s just tidying up some loose ends on a contingency application for next month’s book fair, when Joly comes into the room, moving as fast as he can without his cane (where it could be, Cosette has no idea– sometimes, it’s best not to ask questions). He’s red-faced and distraught, and he doesn’t even wait until he’s past the doorway before he starts talking.

“They’re awful! What did we ever do to anyone? We just want to help! I can’t believe this. Are we being targeted? Cosette! Are we being targeted?”

Cosette grabs a chair and sets it in front of him. “It’s okay, it’s all okay. Sit down for a second.”

Joly sinks into the chair, but the distress doesn’t leave his face. If anything, he looks even worse now. Cosette is worried, but she doesn’t want to leap to conclusions. Often, Joly is less than reliable when it comes to reporting the severity of a situation. He was almost this upset just last week when he found out that Jehan had been walking back to their apartment by themselves late at night to save on transportation costs (something they’ve since agreed not to do anymore). 

“It’s okay,” she says again. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s awful!” Joly tugs on a lock of hair, something he’s recently started doing when stressed. “City Hall! They’re such bad people, Cosette. They want to shut us down!”

Cosette feels like she’s just been doused with a bucket of ice water.

“What?”

“They want to shut us down,” repeats Joly. “Your dad got the email just now. They said we’re unsightly, and people are starting to feel unsafe.”

“They’re starting to feel unsafe, are they?” Cosette thinks back to the soccer dad from yesterday. He hadn’t seemed afraid at all. This is a flimsy excuse, and they probably all know it. She’s starting to feel the beginnings of a fiery rage in the pit of her stomach, flames crawling up into her throat. Oh, this isn’t good. She has to remember that anger doesn’t help anything, she has to keep her cool, has to deal with this situation calmly.

“Okay,” she says after a second, when she’s calmed down enough to speak without cursing. “Has my dad said anything about what he wants to do about it?”

Joly shakes his head. “He wants to call a staff meeting ASAP. But not everyone’s here.”

“Who’s missing?”

“Enjolras. He’s in class until 3 today. And Courfeyrac is still at work until 2. I think Bahorel might be working a shift at the garage right now, too.”

Cosette checks her phone. It’s only 12:30. If they want to wait for the others, they’ve got awhile to do it, and she doubts anyone is going to be productive right now, not when this news is hanging over their heads.

“Let’s have the meeting anyway,” she says. “Text Courfeyrac and see if he can get out early. And then see if everyone can meet in the business office in 10 minutes.”

“Okay.” Joly nods, looking marginally calmer now that she’s taken control of the situation. “I know Bahorel’s boss is pretty inflexible, but should I text Enjolras? He’d probably come if we asked him.”

“No, don’t. I mean, he would, but we shouldn’t be pulling him away from his education. He’ll have enough to deal with when he gets here as it is.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Joly takes out his phone and begins to type away, presumably texting Courfeyrac. He looks busy enough, so Cosette claps him on the shoulder, and leaves the office to find her dad. She’s going to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.

—

Cosette’s dad is probably the best person in the world. He’s done his best as a single parent all these years, sometimes struggling, but always putting Cosette’s needs before his own. It took him years to get his degree because it was hard for him to find employers who didn’t discriminate against him for his criminal record, and money was tight, but by the time he adopted Cosette, he was successfully installed in the legal world– this time, on the other side of the bench. 

This wasn’t enough, though, and soon, spurred on by the death of Cosette’s mother, he created Notre Dame, pursuing a business degree and studying innumerable volumes of legal code so he could build it himself from the ground up. He’d worked hard, and now it’s a recognized nonprofit, complete with a medical clinic (where Combeferre and Joly are doing their residencies), a legal branch (where Courfeyrac holds court most of the time), and sundry smaller programs, including Musichetta’s soup kitchen, and Cosette’s own literacy foundation.

Notre Dame has been a fixture in Cosette’s life for almost as long as she can remember. As a little girl, she’d come in after school to play with the other kids, and in high school and college, she’d help out in Musichetta’s newly-formed soup kitchen, serving meals and running clean-up in between classes. Now, as a post-grad, she works here full-time. This place is her home. Sure, they have their problems, but they do necessary work, work that these self-righteous city officials don’t have it in their hearts to do, no matter how sanctimoniously they may preach. Cosette will be damned if she sees them take Notre Dame away.

She finds her dad in the business office, talking seriously with Grantaire. The two of them act as the main administrators for the program, since they both have MBAs and high tolerances for chaos, but it’s rare that they’re ever in the same place at the same time. This more than anything signifies how serious the situation is. They both nod at her wearily as she comes in.

“Hey, Cosette.” Grantaire nudges a chair in her direction with his foot. “Come sit down, join the circle of melancholy.”

Cosette sits. She gives them both a sympathetic look, and pats her dad on the shoulder. He’s looking a little gray around the edges, and when he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s been aged for a couple of decades.

“I take it you’ve heard?” 

“Joly told me.” Cosette looks at him levelly, her emotions firmly under control by now. “Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“They’re fucking hypocrites,” breaks in Grantaire. “They try to preach a good game, but in the end, all they care about is their own pockets. We don’t bring in enough money, and we’re ugly, and we make them uncomfortable by confronting them with the stark, shitty truth. They’re disgusting, bottom-feeding scumbags, that’s what they are, and if I could, I would fight every single one of them. ”

“Grantaire, please. I understand how you feel, but invective won’t help anything.” 

Cosette’s dad sighs. He seems so discouraged that Grantaire shuts up immediately, only mumbling a small “sorry.” It’s awful, Cosette hasn’t seen him like this often, and she thinks (judging by his reaction) Grantaire hasn’t either. She doesn’t know quite what to do, so they all sit quietly for a bit, lost in their own thoughts, until the others come in.

Everything goes about how Cosette had imagined. Marius cries, and Musichetta glowers, and when Bahorel comes in fifteen minutes later, he hears the news and stomps right out of the room cursing. He doesn’t come back for the rest of the meeting. Cosette doesn’t blame him; she, too, is feeling the hot, scratchy rage building up like a sandstorm in her chest. But now that she’s under control, she’s not going to let it out, not going to make things worse. Anger doesn’t help anything, and she doesn’t have the luxury of getting mad right now, not when everything’s this bad.

It takes awhile before they can start talking about solutions. Everyone is too worked up, and not even Cosette’s dad can keep the peace, not that he really even tries. For a good half-hour, no one talks about anything remotely useful, until finally Cosette realizes someone has to take charge, and she stands up and shouts for order.

“Everyone! _Everyone_! I know you’re all upset, I am too, but this won’t help anything. Can we try to calm down and talk this over rationally?” Gradually, the noise in the room settles to a quiet buzz. Cosette sits down. “Thank you.”

“I don’t see what we can do about it, though,” says Jehan quietly. They’re nervously braiding and re-braiding their hair, looking like they’re trying hard not to burst into tears. Cosette knows how hard this must be for them. Notre Dame has been their home and safe space ever since they left their hometown to come out here for school.

“We can do something,” she says. “This isn’t a death sentence, even though it might feel like it.”

“Is it not?” Grantaire looks at her, flat-eyed. “This is the city. The higher-ups always get their way. What the hell are we supposed to do about it?”

Now Jehan really does burst into tears. Joly clucks and coos and puts his arm around them, and Marius, as if startled by the appearance of a rival, starts to cry even louder. They’re all well on their way to pandemonium again, but Cosette’s dad clears his throat, and it’s not loud, but everyone looks at him anyway.

“Cosette is right,” he says. “We can’t just give up.”

“Why not? It’s not like we stand a chance.” Grantaire raises his eyebrow, skeptical as always, and a few people mutter agreements. Cosette’s dad gives them a stern look, though, and they quiet down.

“Grantaire, I know you’re discouraged,” he says. “But please don’t jump to conclusions. We aren’t beaten yet.”

“We will be soon enough,” Grantaire mumbles, but he doesn’t try to protest beyond this. Even he isn’t proof against the quiet optimism that Cosette’s dad commands.

“We need to fight this in an organized way,” Cosette’s dad continues. Cosette takes out her phone and opens up notes, ready to jot down a battle plan. Her dad nods at her approvingly, and goes on. “First of all, we need to contact the city and persuade them to let us plead our case. I’ll try to contact some of the people I know in City Hall and see if I can talk them down. I’ll also ask Javert if he can help plead our case.”

“That hard-ass?” Bossuet wrinkles his nose in distaste. “He’s always on us for something or other. There’s no way he’s going to do anything for us.”

“You’d be surprised. He’s quite helpful, really,” says Cosette’s dad mildly. Grantaire nods in agreement.

“He’s our biggest financial contributor each month.”

Musichetta clears her throat. “So, what. We ask them not to shut us down, and they agree? That seems kind of iffy.”

“No, we’ll ask them to give us a hearing where we can plead our case.” Cosette’s dad pauses, and smiles almost teasingly. “ _Then_ we ask them not to shut us down, and they agree.”

“Bureaucracy.”

“We’ll probably have to work on a case of our own while I’m reaching out,” resumes Cosette’s dad. “I don’t want to impose on you when you’re all so busy, but is there anyone who could help work on this? Preferably someone with some legal or bureaucratic background.”

Combeferre raises his hand. “I’m like 99 percent sure Enjolras will do it.” The room murmurs in assent.

“I thought that would be a given,” says Musichetta.

Cosette’s dad nods and marks something down on his phone. “Great. That will help a lot. Can anyone else help him?”

“I will,” says Grantaire, just a little too quickly. Cosette’s dad permits himself a decorous smile.

“Very good.”

“We’ll need to make sure that none of our actual clients are put to the side while we do this,” says Cosette warningly, as several others start shifting around as if they’re about to offer their help as well. She’ll do her best to split her time, of course, but she doesn’t want anyone to abandon Notre Dame in their very efforts to save it. The others seem to agree.

“It’s important for the city to see that they can’t scare us,” says Musichetta, baring her teeth. “We’ll show them just how much good we can do, even under fire.”

Cosette certainly hopes she’s right. It’s now more than ever that they all need to show what they’re made of. She knows her friends are more than capable of rising to the challenge, but it’s going to be a tough battle, so she can’t help feeling a little daunted. They’re all going to have to work double-time from now on.

It seems anticlimactic to go back to work after the meeting, but Cosette has no choice, not if she’s going to keep Notre Dame running as best she can. Still, she can’t bring herself to retreat to the isolation of the back room, so she tells Irma to go home for the rest of the day (which she should anyway; she’s looking a little green around the gills) and takes over front desk duty. It’s easier to keep her mind off of things when she’s constantly fielding questions and answering phone calls. 

Just after 3, the door bangs open and Enjolras rushes in, flushed and wild-eyed. He looks more stressed than usual, which is saying something. Cosette figures he must have heard the news.

“Is it true?” he gasps out, coming over to cling to the counter, as if it will give him strength. Cosette sighs.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it.” 

Enjolras lets go of the counter and starts to stalk back and forth across the lobby. Cosette wants to tell him to sit and calm himself down, because he’s probably alarming the clients, but she knows from experience that it will do no good to interrupt. He won’t even be able to hear her through the chaos of his thoughts. However, she can’t have him out here walking around like a human storm cloud and making everyone nervous, so she gets out of her chair, grabs hold of him, and directs him towards the business office, hoping that Grantaire will be able to calm him down. He goes along without complaint, not even resisting as she marches him through the doorway. By now, he’s used to his stronger friends (read: all of them) picking him up and hauling him around. 

Fortunately, Grantaire is still in the business office, so Cosette doesn’t have to go and look for him. She waves grimly and pushes Enjolras towards him.

“He found out,” she says.

Enjolras makes an unhappy little squeaking noise. “I found out.”

“Aww. Come here.” Grantaire reaches for him and tugs him into his arms. Enjolras leans against his chest, looking calmer already.

Cosette smiles at them both, and takes her leave. Surely, everything will be okay (or at least sort-of-okay) now.

When she gets back to her desk, the first thing she notices is that her phone is upside down, leaning lengthwise against the edge of the desk and the wall. She knows she didn’t leave it like that, so she turns it around with some trepidation. Has someone been messing with her? 

To her surprise, there’s a post-it stuck to the screen. Scribbled in one of Irma’s glitter gel pens is a note, crabbed and spiky and difficult to read.

_Dear Cosette,_

_I stopped by, but you weren’t here. So I’m leaving you my number. Don’t do anything weird with it._

_By the way, do you want to meet me when you get off work? I’ll be at Cafe Musain probably all night working on homework. Stop by if you want._

_xx Eponine_

There’s a phone number written on the other side of the sticky note, presumably so no one untoward will see it. Cosette smiles and types it into her phone. She knows this isn’t completely professional, strictly speaking, but then again, what _is_ professional, anyway? Her father, fountain of wisdom and beneficence, has always told her to follow her heart, and right now, her heart is pointing to a petite dark-haired woman in the cafe down the block. She smiles again, filled with new energy now that she has something to look forward to. Maybe this day won’t be a total loss.

—

At around six, Cosette steps through the doors of Cafe Musain, looking much more confident than she feels. She’s worried, now that it comes down to it. What if Eponine doesn’t want to see her after all? Most of the people have turned around to stare at her since she came in, which she’s used to, but she doesn’t care about any of them. She’s looking only for one, particular face.

Just as she’s managed to convince herself that Eponine isn’t here, and it’s all a set-up, she hears her name from the back corner of the room.

“Cosette! Over here!”

Relieved, and not a little nervous, Cosette hurries over. There, at the tiniest possible table, is Eponine. There are books spread out in front of her, and a couple of half-filled coffee cups. Azelma and Gavroche are huddled in one of the overstuffed chairs nearby, their attention completely occupied with Eponine’s phone. Eponine smiles in greeting.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Cosette smiles back. “Of course. I wanted to see you.”

“Really. You miss me already?” Eponine raises a teasing eyebrow. Cosette’s heart does a handstand.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Eponine moves some of her papers aside. Cosette gets a glimpse of some math problems, and a worksheet with a couple of trigonometry theorems on it before Eponine stuffs them haphazardly into one of her textbooks.

“Sit down for a bit,” she says. “I need a break from this.”

Cosette sits. She couldn’t do anything else. “What _is_ ‘this’?”

“I never graduated from high school,” Eponine says, offhand. “I dropped out at sixteen to work. So now, I’m taking night classes to try and get my GED. But it’s a hell of a pain, let me tell you that. I don’t remember anything.”

Cosette can’t imagine how hard that must be. Once again, she’s reminded of her own privilege. Sure, her early life is probably comparable to Eponine’s own (or maybe it’s worse– she doesn’t know), but since then, she’s never had to worry. In fact, aside from what she’s done at Notre Dame, she’s never worked a job in her life. 

“That’s amazing,” she says. “How long has it been?”

“How old am I, you mean?” Eponine laughs. “How old do I look?”

Truthfully, Cosette doesn’t know. Eponine could be anything from seventeen to thirty-five. Poverty and hard work have definitely aged her prematurely, but there’s a light in her eyes that bespeaks high spirits and youth. It’s really impossible to say.

“Twenty-three?” Cosette hazards.

Eponine shakes her head. “Twenty-six.”

“I was close.”

“Sort of.”

Cosette thinks about reaching for one of the textbooks and paging through it, just so she can have something to do with her hands. But that would be rude, she decides. Oh well, it’s okay to be nervous. Just as long as she doesn’t let it affect her conversation skills.

“So, I don’t know if you mind me asking…”

Eponine shrugs. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything you want.”

“Okay. Then, what have you been doing since you left school?” 

Cosette groans internally. She doesn’t know how to phrase anything, ever. Her question probably sounded insensitive, because of course, Eponine has been working. If she hasn’t had time to take classes until now, she probably hasn’t had time to do much else, either. 

But Eponine just smiles at her. “I’ve been around. It turns out, there’s quite a few jobs that don’t require a high school diploma. Some of them aren’t too fun, but… you know. It’s an experience. I’ve learned a lot.”

“That’s amazing.”

Cosette doesn’t want to disregard the hard work and most likely awful conditions that Eponine has encountered over the years, but she’s a little envious of all the experience she’s had. Eponine is only a year older than her, but she seems so worldly and _tough_ , like nothing in this world can bring her down.

“What about you?” Eponine asks. “What’s your story?”

Compared with Eponine’s, it seems dull, at least the parts that are acceptable to talk about now. True, her early life is definitely exciting, but Cosette isn’t one to use horrible experiences for brownie points, even if those experiences were her own.

“I’ll start with high school,” she says.

Eponine nods, so Cosette tells her all about her life, how she’s worked at Notre Dame as much as she can, how she’s met so many wonderful friends, and how now that she’s graduated from college, she’s back full-time.

“I majored in psychology,” she says. “I used to want to get a terminal degree and become a psychiatrist. But nowadays, I’m not sure. I really love what I’m doing at Notre Dame.”

Eponine nods in understanding. “That makes sense. But you help out in the psych clinic sometimes, don’t you?”

“I do– wait.” Cosette raises an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

Eponine blushes. “Sorry, that sounded creepy, didn’t it. Don’t worry, I’m not stalking you. I asked Enjolras.”

Well, that would definitely explain it. Enjolras is ridiculously fond of his friends, Cosette included, and will happily give complete profiles to anyone who asks, laced liberally with glowing commendations of their character. Cosette is glad that she decided to ask him, rather than, say, Jehan, who would probably give a poetic and completely incomprehensible account of the time she punched a police officer in the face. Not that Cosette isn’t proud of that story, but she’s not sure if it’s the best thing to tell to a new acquaintance. 

“I’m flattered that you asked about me,” she says. 

Eponine smiles. Cosette will never get over how her face lights up and her nose crinkles just the tiniest bit. It’s adorable and beautiful in equal measure. She could look at her forever, but now she’s talking, and it’s important to listen to everything she has to say.

“There’s something else I wanted to ask, but I wanted to ask you in person. It’s not the sort of thing I could pass through someone else.”

Cosette has a good idea of what’s coming. She doesn’t want to flatter herself, but she’s reasonably sure of what’s happening here. So she smiles her best flirtatious smile and raises one eyebrow in a way that (she’s been told) goes straight to the heart.

“Ask me, then.”

“Okay.” Eponine lays her pencil down and looks her full in the eyes. “Cosette, will you go on a date with me?”

Cosette has completely forgotten everything that happened earlier that day. So what if the City is on their case? People are more important than the City, and this person here, this beautiful, amber-eyed goddess of a person, has just said something incredibly important indeed. Really and truly, this is the best day ever. Cosette smiles and lays her hand across Eponine’s.

“Yes,” she says.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey remember this story

Enjolras doesn’t show up for work the next day. Some of the others are annoyed, because just the day before, he’d been going on and on about how he was going to make the best plan ever to defeat the City, and he would save Notre Dame, and everyone would be happy, just wait and see, count on it, watch him, he was going to kick some ass. And now, he’s not here. Jehan says he’s probably studying for a midterm or something. The two of them are the only ones who are still in school, so they have a sort of bond over the trials of exams (though being the nerds that they are, they both rather like them). However, the others just dismiss this with a huff.

“He never let that stop him before,” says Bossuet.

“Yeah,” agrees Bahorel. “He should just blow it off and not study. That’s what I did.”

“And look how far it got you,” teases Musichetta. Bahorel flips her off.

“Rude.”

“I hope everything’s okay,” breaks in Joly anxiously. “What if he’s sick or something?”

Courfeyrac glowers. “Well, we would know that if he would answer his goddamn phone.”

“But maybe he’s on his deathbed and can’t answer because he’s dying!”

“Or maybe he’s on his sleep bed, and can’t answer because he’s asleep.”

“You should have some faith! I’m sure he’s got his reasons!”

Cosette tunes out the discussion. She’s not really annoyed with Enjolras, not because she thinks something is wrong, but because she has a date with Eponine tomorrow, and this is a momentous event that’s occupying all of her attention. She’s so excited, but uncharacteristically nervous at the same time, and it’s strange. 

Usually, she’s the best at dating. Only Courfeyrac could maybe give her a run for her money. For the most part, she’s in ninety-nine percent control of her love life (because there are contingencies that not even the most popular princess could foresee). But now, she’s sweating bullets. What should she wear? Should she wear lipstick? What if Eponine goes in for a goodnight kiss, and she smears it all over her face? Should she wear a dress? It’s her usual style– she’s the biggest girly-girl of them all– but maybe Eponine would think it was too much. But wait, she shouldn’t be changing who she is. This is all so difficult! She pulls out her phone just to have something in her hands. Maybe a game of Candy Crush will calm her nerves.

Before she knows it, she’s opened up messaging, and texted Eponine that she can’t wait for their date tomorrow, complete with no less than five different emojis. As soon as the message is sent, she slaps herself on the hand in reproach. _Come on, Cosette. Get it together_. 

But then, Eponine texts back. And holy crap, she’s included an alien emoji. That’s Cosette’s very favorite. It’s official. They haven’t even gone on their first date yet, but Cosette is head-over-heels gone for this girl.

She only gets her head back on earth when Combeferre comes out of the medical clinic with blood on his arms up to the elbow. That sort of thing does tend to be shocking to one’s sensibilities. He doesn’t seem to be too worried, though, only nods politely to his horrified friends and asks if Joly might join him in the clinic to help him with a particularly difficult problem. Joly goes along with him cheerfully enough, and electrified as they are, everyone else goes back to work. 

The rest of the day passes uneventfully enough. Cosette spends most of her time in the psych clinic, since Joly is working the physical health side with Combeferre. She likes counseling, but some of these people have some very real problems that she doesn’t quite feel licensed to deal with. She dispenses four separate copies of the master resource list, and calls in one referral to the behavioral health institute up the road before admitting defeat on her last appointment of the day, and calling for Ms. Hucheloup, who is a bona fide social worker. That’s how it is around Notre Dame– everyone does what they can.

—

The next day, Enjolras still hasn’t come back. Cosette still refrains from passing judgement, because heaven knows they’ve all taken days off. She does wish he would answer his phone, though. They’ve all been blowing it up, trying to get him to help plan their case. Even if he’s not physically present, he can still do quite a lot. He’s proved that on multiple occasions. Now, though, he seems to have disappeared completely off the grid. Admittedly, it’s a little impressive, but it’s not helpful.

Cosette tries to do the best she can anyway. She may not have much formal legal training, but she’s had plenty of practice digging up references for the innumerable scientific papers in her courses, so she’s really good at combing through endless lists of data. She has the vague idea that if precedent can be found for nonprofit organizations like these, it will help their case, so she’s reading through different records to try and find an institution that’s similar enough to theirs to be compared analogically. 

By 5:00 comes around, her eyes feel sandy and her head is spinning, so she texts Musichetta to see if she wants to get a drink. Sure, she could just pop across the hall to ask her in person, but what would be the fun in that? Besides, she couldn’t send those cute little wine-glass emojis that way. Musichetta says yes, so they leave the locking up to Courfeyrac and Bahorel (who really should be doing it anyway, seeing as they’re the ones who came in the latest today) and head to the Corinthe, otherwise known as the sleaziest and (somehow) best bar in the city. 

Immediately, Cosette feels much better. It’s happy hour, which, at the Corinthe, means that half the drinks on the menu are half-off. Which half it is depends on the day, and the bartender’s mood. Today, they’re all pretty disgusting ones, so Cosette orders a mule and a couple beers and leaves it at that. It’s not like she can ever get drunk at bars, anyway. She doesn’t quite know what her tolerance is these days, but it’s upward of twelve shots, and she doesn’t have that kind of money. 

Musichetta is similarly conservative. Working at Notre Dame doesn’t exactly provide them with extra cash to fling at overpriced cocktails. In the end, though, this turns out to be a good thing, because both of them are sober enough to recognize the group of City officials that comes in and sits down at the table beside theirs. Immediately, Musichetta pulls out her phone and texts Cosette.

_Did they see us?_

_Not yet._

_Then, would it be unethical for us to sit here and eavesdrop?_

Cosette considers for a minute. Then,

_It would. But you know, we do have to sober up before we drive home. That’s only decent. So you know, if we happen to hear something while we’re here, that’s not our fault, is it?_

Musichetta flashes her a fierce grin. “I like the way you think.”

By mutual, unspoken agreement, the two women scoot closer to each other so they’re side by side and leaning over the table. To anyone around them, it would look like they’re engaged in showing each other something on their phones. However, their attention is purely on the table behind them, where the City officials are gossiping away.

“Can you even believe him?” says one of them, followed by a chorus of laughter.

“Anyway,” chimes in one of his friends, “did you hear we’re finally getting rid of that eyesore of a nonprofit? The one that’s down the street from the Musain?”

“No! Really?”

“Yes! They gave the order out today!”

Cosette and Musichetta look at each other. That order wasn’t supposed to have been processed yet. If these people are telling the truth, it spells very bad news.

“Javert seems to think it won’t go through,” argues one of the others. Her friend scoffs, though.

“What, like he’s going to get an injunction now?”

“Maybe. I heard that Valjean guy is kind of a pain to deal with. He might be petitioning for a hearing even as we speak.”

“Yeah, I did hear that, too. I have to admit, he’s ahead of the game if he’s already talking to the higher-ups.”

“Do you think he and Javert are in cahoots, then?”

“Maybe. They did seem awfully close at that last community board meeting.”

“That’s all conjecture,” breaks in another official. “Point is, we already sent in the paperwork. They’re going to have to act inhumanly fast if they want to do anything.”

“Yeah, true. There’s no way they can get their case together that quickly.”

The conversation soon turns to another topic, so Cosette and Musichetta look at each other, and get to their feet. They need to tell the others about this as soon as they possibly can.

—

Cosette’s dad calls an emergency meeting on Google Hangouts that night. Everyone is online except for Enjolras, although some of them seem a little distracted. Courfeyrac keeps disappearing for long periods of time, only to come back with a good suggestion or two (strangely enough, Combeferre’s patterns of absence sync up exactly with his), and Grantaire keeps messaging people outside of the chat to send them memes and pictures of cool rocks he’s found. In spite of this, though, it’s clear that they’re all taking the situation seriously.

“Should we try and confront City Hall?” Musichetta types. 

Bahorel sends several fighting emojis. Cosette’s dad shakes his head and makes a disapproving face at the computer screen. Cosette isn’t sure if he thinks Bahorel can see him or not– he’s not the best with technology.

“We shouldn’t be confrontational upfront,” he types (very slowly, since he’s never gotten beyond hunt-and-peck).

Now Grantaire and Bahorel both send fighting emojis. Jehan sends a skull, which would be worrying, except they use this as the signature to their texts half the time even in normal circumstances, so Cosette doesn’t think they’re going to kill anyone (probably). 

“Should we try to confirm the rumor?” she types.

“I WILL DO IT,” writes Marius immediately. He’s taken to writing his texts in all caps, for some reason, maybe thinking that it will make them more powerful.

Cosette is confused, though. How is Marius going to do this? As far as she knows, he doesn’t have any contacts at City Hall. As if echoing her thoughts, Courfeyrac joins the chat long enough to type a succinct “how tf tho.”

It takes a second, but finally Marius writes back: “MY DAD USED 2 WORK THERE. I CAN USE HIS OLD BADGE N STUFF 2 GET IN.”

“Didn’t he work there like 18 years ago?” types Joly. “Are you sure that will work?”

“DO NOT WORRY”

Cosette looks at her dad. “Should we worry?”

“Hmm.” Her dad strokes his chin, pondering for a second. Then, “No, I think we should give him a chance. He’s rather a resourceful young man. Perhaps he will find a way.”

“Okay.” Cosette gestures to the group chat, which is rapidly filling up with more and more dire warnings from the others. “Can you tell them that, please?”

“Certainly.”

He arduously types out a fairly long message, giving his blessing to Marius, and telling the others to relax until they all know more. In the meantime, though, they should go about building their case. Cosette thinks this sounds exactly right.

“Don’t worry about asking for help,” she writes. “We’re all in this together, and we all want to do our best.”

“YES!” types Bahorel. He, also, writes all in caps, but it’s probably for a different reason. 

“We can do this,” agrees Musichetta. “They’re not going to beat us.”

Cosette sends back an assortment of emojis, but she’s frowning. She really hopes the others can keep their enthusiasm, because they all have a long fight ahead.

—

Enjolras comes back the next day with a black eye and an armful of rare case files. Cosette takes one look at him, and pulls him into the business office to talk to him.

“Okay,” she says. “Be real with me. Where did you get these?”

Enjolras gives her a sideways glance. “It wasn’t too hard.”

That doesn’t answer the question at all. Cosette shakes her head at him. “Come on, that won’t do.”

Enjolras just stares. Cosette stares back. She has a few inches on him when she stands up straight, and she can be fierce when she wants to, so it’s pretty likely that if she stands firm, he’ll eventually back down.

He does. “I got them from my parents’ house,” he says. 

Cosette gives him a funny look. “Why did your parents have these?”

“Because.”

Clearly, he’s not going to say anything else. He can be so stubborn, sometimes. Cosette just shakes her head, resigned.

“Fine. But are they admissible?”

“Oh, yes! Given the standard warnings, of course, but yes!”

This is actually quite fortunate. Cosette could use some more material to go through. And since Enjolras practically cut his teeth on legal jargon, he knows the courts inside and out, and has most likely selected the best case files for her to use.

“Thank you,” she says. “I hope this helps. Honestly, we could use anything right now.”

Enjolras frowns. “What do you mean?”

Of course. He hasn’t been here, so he doesn’t know. Cosette quickly fills him in on the situation, not sparing any details except how annoyed the others had been at his absence. He doesn’t have to know that, not right now. 

By the time she’s finished, he’s fuming and hissing and tugging at the sides of his hair (which actually looks quite funny, but Cosette isn’t about to laugh).

“I can’t believe this,” he seethes. “Unconstitutional! Inhumane! I’m going to take them. We’ll all take them. It’s not like they can stop us. Or, they can try. Dictatorial bureaucratic lapdogs. Disgusting hedonist snapper fish! Never seen anything like it.”

He begins to mumble increasingly rude (and creative) insults. Cosette wants to stop him, but she thinks it might be better for him to get out his indignation first, so he can focus all his effort on the problem. Besides, she’s rather enjoying the diatribe.

He’s still talking when the door opens and Grantaire comes in, yawning and carrying an enormous cup of coffee. 

“Morning,” he says sleepily. “Man, you will not believe the night I had.”

Enjolras stops, mid-word. Grantaire notices him and waves cheerfully.

“Hey there, Enjolras!”

“Good day, my sir man.”

Grantaire doesn’t comment on this. Instead, he strides forward, setting his coffee on the desk as he goes, and takes Enjolras’s face between his hands. “What the hell happened to your eye?”

“Oh.” Enjolras goes red and looks away. Whether he’s embarrassed about his injury, or about Grantaire holding his face is anyone’s guess. “I fell. Not important. Anyway, what night did you have?”

Grantaire looks at him carefully. Finally, he seems to come to a decision. He gently strokes his thumb under Enjolras’s bruised eye, then lowers his hands and retreats to a safe distance, looking like he’s trying very hard to act normal.

“It was a night,” he says. “After the Google Hangouts meeting, I decided I wanted to collect all the different types of rocks in my neighborhood and catalog them. So I went out, but it was like midnight, you know? So I decided to bring some soup with me.”

By now, Enjolras is hanging on his every word. Cosette smiles indulgently, and picks up the pile of case files. She has a lot to get done if she’s going to leave early for her date tonight.

—

Cosette does manage to finish everything early, so she can head home to get ready. It’s important; she needs everything to be as close to perfect as possible for this. Her nerves have abated somewhat, but she’s still worried about the tiniest details. Should she bring mints, or would that presuppose a goodnight kiss? Should she do a different makeup look than she wore to work today? Should she curl her hair?

In the end, she decides to text her friends. Group feedback is important, after all. She sends an SOS to the group text, and then individual ones, just in case. Her friends all respond quickly, but most of them aren’t very helpful.

..

 **Enjolras** : Be yourself! She will love you :3

 **Grantaire** : also don’t b drunk. I know this ,,

 **Bahorel** : get nakey

 **Courfeyrac** : bring her home ;)

 **Musichetta** : bring her Weed

 **Bossuet** : me 2

 **Joly** : BOSSUET U DONT EVEN SMOKE

..

Only Jehan manages to give semi-helpful advice, and this is probably by mistake. They text her a picture of a hideous sweater, and tell her that this is part of their Good Luck outfit, and she should try and replicate it. Frankly, Cosette doesn’t want to know what the rest of the outfit entails, but she knows that Jehan does have pretty good luck on the dating scene. If they can have successful first dates by not caring about what they wear, so can she. So she pulls on one of her favorite sundresses and some heels, curls her hair, touches up her lipstick, and power-walks out the door to meet Eponine.

Thanks to her zeal, and to the speed-racing tendencies of her Uber driver, she ends up being fifteen minutes early to the coffee shop where they’re meeting. She decides to go to the bathroom and check her hair again while she waits, because who knows what could have happened on the way over here? 

As she walks inside, though, she’s arrested by the sound of singing. It’s gravelly and raspy, but tuneful, and seriously, absolutely gorgeous. She doesn’t know the song, something bluesy and mournful, something that sounds like it belongs in a black-and-white art film. Before she knows it, she’s walking inside, because she has to know where that’s coming from.

“Excuse me, I– ”

“What?”

The singer whirls around, and Cosette almost stumbles in her surprise. It’s Eponine.

“S-sorry,” she says, feeling strangely wrong-footed. “Was that you singing just now?”

“Yeah.” Eponine grins at her, back on track now that she’s gotten over her surprise at being interrupted. “I got here early, so I came to check my makeup. And then no one was here, so I decided to serenade myself.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cosette blurts out.

Eponine raises an eyebrow. “Really? I guess it’s the song. My friend Montparnasse wrote it.”

“Well, it’s a lovely song, your friend is really talented, but no. Your voice is beautiful. You sound like how a painting looks.”

“Huh.” Eponine looks like she’s trying to figure out what to say. Her skin is too dark to show much of a flush, but she looks shy, like she’s genuinely touched and not a little embarrassed. “Thanks,” she says. “That’s a super sweet thing to say.”

“I meant it, though.” Now Eponine looks awkward, so Cosette coughs daintily, and gestures to the door. “Shall we go?”

“Didn’t you have to…?”

“Oh, no. I was checking my makeup, too.”

Eponine laughs, a bright, happy sound. Most of the roughness of her voice disappears, leaving only a clear, honey-colored note. Cosette makes a mental note to read up on jokes soon, so she can make Eponine laugh as often as possible.

They find their table easily and sit down. It’s tucked away in the back, not too crowded, and quiet enough that Cosette wonders if Eponine can hear her heart thumping. She takes a breath and tries to calm herself. It’s just a date; she’s been on plenty of these before, and she knows what to do. Honestly, she does. It’s just, what is she supposed to order? If she gets noodles, will it be messy? Or will she get vegetables in her teeth? Maybe she should go with the curry. But then maybe she’ll smell too spicy. Does Eponine have any food allergies? Maybe she should have asked first. Oh, goodness. She’s already feeling the harbingers of disaster.

“What are you going to order?” she asks, to stall for time. Eponine looks up, perfectly at ease.

“I was thinking the pineapple fried rice,” she says.

That’s a nice, safe choice. Cosette nods. “That sounds good. I’ll get that, too.”

“Aww, we’re getting matching dinners?” Eponine grins at her. “Cosette, you sap.”

For a brief second, Cosette is worried that she unconsciously did something weird, but Eponine is still smiling, so it can’t be all that bad. She twirls her hair in an over-exaggerated valley-girl impression.

“I guess that just shows that we both have good taste.”

Eponine’s smile gets even wider. “I guess we do.”

By the time their food comes, Cosette is feeling a little less nervous. She tells Eponine about her day at work, including the newest episode of the Enjolras and Grantaire telenovela. Eponine seems to think it’s cute, and she laughs in her perfect way.

“So, what was Grantaire’s story, anyway? Did he find some rare rocks or something?”

“I actually don’t know,” Cosette confesses. “With him, it could really be anything.”

“He reminds me of my brother,” says Eponine. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. They both have that devil-may-care attitude. And I could totally see Gavroche running around the neighborhood looking for rocks.”

Cosette can’t help but smile. It’s such a cute image. “Tell me more about your siblings,” she says. 

Eponine puzzles for a moment, a slight smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. She’s the very archetype of a doting big sister, Cosette can tell already. Sure enough, when she speaks, her voice is warm and fond.

“Azelma’s the older one. She’s thirteen, still in middle school. Sweetest girl in the world once you get past the mischief. She likes art a lot– I think she’s got a real talent, too. She made me this bracelet, see?” Eponine holds up her wrist to show off a beaded bracelet with a star-shaped charm. It’s surprisingly tasteful. Cosette reaches out to touch it lightly.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I wear it every day. I like it, and besides, I think it’s encouraging, you know? I hope someday, she can do something with her talent.”

Eponine’s tone is wistful. Loving and supportive though she is, Cosette is sure she’s sorry that she missed her own chance earlier in life. 

“I know she will,” she says. “Especially with you as her sister.”

Eponine’s smile is a gentle, heart-shaped thing. “Thank you, Cosette.”

Cosette has to look down. She’s blushing, she knows she is, and she can’t get away with it like Eponine can. Something about all of this, the closeness, the contact– it’s flustering her in a way she’s seldom felt. She crumples her straw wrapper on the table.

“Ah, well… Tell me about Gavroche?”

“Little demon,” Eponine laughs. “He’s a lot more trouble than Azelma is, let me tell you. He reminds me of me at that age. Nothing but sass and practical jokes.”

“Really? That’s what you were like?”

“You should have seen me. I was always in trouble– well.” Eponine laughs again. “You know how ten-year-olds are.”

Cosette knows in theory. She herself hadn’t had the opportunity or the means to be anything but quiet, careful, anticipating the next strike. “So I’ve heard,” she says.

Eponine looks at her keenly now, clear brown eyes piercing her to the core. “What about you?”

“What, um. What about me?”

“What was baby Cosette like?”

The words aren’t challenging, simply curious. Cosette knows that Eponine won’t judge, won’t interrupt, won’t do anything but be a good audience. But is it really all right to tell her this? There’s a lot of reasons Cosette doesn’t talk about her past, and this right here, this is one of them. She doesn’t want to make it seem like she’s looking for pity, or trying to be anything else than what she is right now. So she hesitates.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course. I want to know everything about you.”

That’s enough to stop Cosette’s heart for a second. When it restarts, she takes a deep breath and nods. It’s time.

“I was raised by my neighbors,” she says. “My mom died when I was young, and I never knew my dad, so they were the closest and they got me. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Yeah. They were… how to put it? Abusive assholes.”

Eponine lets out a puff of air through pursed lips. It speaks volumes. “I see.”

“Everything that they could possibly do wrong, they did. It was hell living there with them. When my dad adopted me, I had to go through a year of therapy just to be able to go to high school like a normal kid.” 

It feels good saying all this, freeing. And Eponine isn’t making any move to interrupt, so Cosette just keeps on going. 

“They kept me at home, illegally, you know. Never sent me to school, never let me have friends, anything like that. I did housework, and that was it. Well, that, and I was their punching bag. So by the time anyone found out about what was going on, I was super messed up.”

“I can imagine.” Eponine lays a hand over hers, light and soft. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

“It got better, though,” Cosette tells her. “My dad is pretty much the best person in the world, and he made sure to help me through the aftermath of all that.”

“I like your dad.”

Cosette has to laugh at this. “You haven’t even met him.”

“Well, yeah. But he raised you. How could I not like him?”

She’s so smooth. Cosette really doesn’t know what to do. She’s used to being the smooth one in the relationship, making all the cute comments, getting the other person flustered. But here, with Eponine, she feels like a sixteen-year-old again, blushing after her crush. Even though she’s supposed to be good at dates, even though she has a set stock of flirtatious comments that she can pull out at any given moment, even though she’s the Queen of Dating past compare, she’s stuck, tripping over her own tongue, unsure of how to proceed at even this most innocent of comments. 

“I’m glad,” she ends up saying, and mentally slapping herself at the strangeness of the reply. Eponine laughs, and in an impressively casual gesture, puts her hand over Cosette’s. 

“I’m glad that you’re glad.”

Again, it feels like there’s electricity in Eponine’s palm. Cosette is reminded of a YA novel she read a long time ago, in which the protagonist had magic hands that could shoot multi-colored streams of energy. Could Eponine be possessed of the same power? It certainly feels like it. Right now, there’s a passion-red string shooting right into Cosette’s heart. 

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she ends up stuttering out. She’s afraid Eponine is going to judge her for that, or maybe make some smart-ass comment (because she might be nice, but Cosette’s blundering up so badly that it wouldn’t be surprising for the snark to come out, at least a little bit), and inwardly, she draws back a little bit, wondering how she’s ever going to score a second date this way. But Eponine smiles gently at her, and squeezes her hand ever-so-slightly.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”

—

Cosette gets a goodnight kiss at the door.

She hadn’t been expecting it, hadn’t wanted to assume anything, but Eponine insists on walking her up to the porch, and really, she’s not going to say no to that. And then, Cosette is standing up on the doorstep, several inches taller than Eponine like this, and Eponine is still holding her hand in her miraculously-unsweaty palm, and smiling, golden in the glow of the porchlight.

“I had a really good time tonight.”

“Me too,” says Cosette, echoing Eponine’s words from earlier. “I’d love to see you again.”

“That can be arranged.” Eponine’s smile is the tiniest bit cheeky now. “In the meantime, though, would it be all right if I kissed you?”

 _Would_ it! Cosette reaches out her spare hand and wraps it around Eponine’s waist. “I’m amenable.”

“You dork,” Eponine laughs, and then Cosette can’t register anything else, because Eponine’s lips are on hers, and they’re soft, and sweet like vanilla-flavored gloss, and she’s kissing Cosette, holy _shit_ , she’s _kissing Cosette_. 

For a hot second, Cosette can’t remember how to do anything besides stand there and be in love, but fortunately, her body takes over for her after awhile, and she kisses back with as much fervor as she knows how. Eponine responds in kind, and yeah, maybe it’s a little scandalous for the first date, but Cosette doesn’t really care. All of her world has narrowed down to one point, and that one point is Eponine. 

Eventually, though, Eponine is the first to pull away. “I should get going,” she murmurs regretfully against Cosette’s lips. Cosette nods after a second, dazed.

“I, uh. I should too.”

Eponine brushes one more kiss across her cheek, light as a cherry sundae, and then she’s sinking back down onto the flat of her feet. “Thank you for a wonderful night, Cosette,” she says. “I hope I’ll see you soon?”

“Definitely,” Cosette agrees. “Goodnight, Eponine. Be safe, text me when you get home.”

“I will See you soon, princess.”

 _Princess_.

Cosette’s floating on pastel-colored clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://synchronysymphony.tumblr.com)


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